At the Core

I don't think that schizophrenia has changed who Dave is at his core, but it changed almost everything else surrounding that core. With everything else altered, that core human being can't function as he once did. Dave was always so good at taking care of me when I was sick. He would cater to me, wait on me, take away all the worry and minimize the effects of whatever illness I was suffering from. He loved me....held my hair and rubbed my back while I threw up, rushed around trying to get me whatever I needed to help me. I knew that if I was staying home sick he would set up our bedroom for me with the laptop to watch movies, or at times he actually brought a tv up to our bedroom with a tall stack of movies for me to watch. He'd make tea, make soup, go to the pharmacy and get me medicine, make a nice hot bath for me, rub my feet, tuck me in bed. He did all of that for me. For several years! I got quite accustomed to that pampering. I loved it actually. I miss it and feel profoundly more alone when I'm sick, as I am now and have been a lot in the last couple months. I still feel that is who he is at his core. An immensely loving man who wants to care for his children. But he can't do that for me anymore. As Dave's illness progressed he still tried to care for me but it became rushed. He always had something else to do. Something else to get to. So the tuck-ins became more rushed, but he tried, that's for sure. It must have been difficult with his mind going a mile-a-minute and me trying to get him to sit with me and do the baby journal we would read together each night when I was pregnant. He would sit with me, however distracted and we would reach each day about what was happening with our babies as his mind was simultaneously pulling him away from me. He felt such stress and pressure to work on his science and math that he never did complete a page in the journal meant for the daddy to fill out. As the last few years of our marriage went on, I can now see how the disease crept up over him and grasped him, pulling him away. After the babies were born he tried so hard to do his 4 hour shift with the babies so I could sleep a little. I remember one night waking up after a blissful 6 hours of sleep to find that he hadn't slept at all, did two feeds with the twins all the while working on his science. It was chaotic. But amidst the chaos he always tried his best to take care of me. Now his mind is slower, possibly clearer, and he does what he can to help with the kids which sometimes feels like very little and other times it is a lot. But I can tell that multi-tasking is very hard for him. Well, its hard for many people not suffering from schizophrenia, but I've seen a decline in his ability to multi-task from where he was previously. I no longer have my husband, but at least the kids have their dad.

A light in the shadows

Amidst the diagnosis and permanence of schizophrenia, there is light. For an almost ex-wife; for the father of my children; for the children. A light that makes me wonder about the what ifs. Like what if we didn't fall apart? What if we were still together? What if I hadn't stopped loving him? These flashes of light are beautiful, where I can see the Daddy my kids deserve and I can communicate with a man who seems really familiar. We are lucky, Dave's schizophrenia isn't severe. At least not in the hours I am with him. He is well maintained it seems, and I feel so blessed that he comes over so often and helps me with the kids. I'm always watching, listening and observing how he interacts with the kids, what he says to them, what he feeds them, how he speaks to them. Today and yesterday he did great. Reassuringly great. It encourages me and makes me feel good about him caring for the kids, yet I don't get comfortable in that comfort. Because I know he has off days, but I also know the off days seem fewer and fewer. Maybe there is potential for things to get even better. I don't know. And I wonder about the 22 hours of each day that he isn't here. I would like to think that he is honest in the stories he tells me but I really don't know what he does. I wonder if his room is full of notes and scribbles and calculations. If he cleans it or if his room is a wasteland of a mess. I wonder what he feeds the kids when I'm not home. Does his illness allow him to organize himself with the kids? All I know for certain is when I come home they are happy, excited and slightly dirtier than I would have them. I know that he loves our children more than life. He showers them with love and attention and enjoys every minute with them. That is more than many can say, mental illness or otherwise. Maybe it's luck, or a blessing, or karma or whatever you believe in, that this disease could permeate our lives, our marriage, our family but could still end up with a pretty workable situation. I think it was forgiveness and willingness to move forward and put our children first that got us here, over the mountain of tears and pain and learning and struggle. But I'm so thankful we made it here and hope we can continue to build on it.

The Things We Do For Love

Love. It meant more to me then. At 19, 20, 21...28...when I had no idea what I didn't know and that was easy and simple because I loved him and there was no possible way for things not to work out. I trusted him with all that I had and didn't need anything more than his love and devotion to me. Well, I had that for a long time. Lots of fun and some travel and the promise of many things. Sure that I would negate my parents' doubt and that Dave and I would be fine. Better than fine. And although we had our troubles we were well on our way to being fine. Until we weren't. There were characteristics that Dave always had that may have been signs. I have no idea. I feel a little ripped off honestly, that within this man who treated me like gold and stole my heart was a patiently waiting thief. Waiting to take my hopes and dreams from me. My husband and family would be taken from me. I thought I chose well, but no predictions could have come up with this one. As that seed sprouted and grew I didn't see it creeping in. Despite being a nurse and having a little training in the area of mental illness, it was still one of those situations where I could not see what was happening all around me, to me, to him. From the outside I think people questioned, maybe even knew, that there was a problem and on numerous occasions the question was asked of me. "Do you think he has mental illness? Schizophrenia? Depression?" No, he doesn't I would say. I was sure he didn't. Being that convinced, that sure of something and ending up being so completely wrong was totally destabilizing for me. That which I "knew" was completely false. I was wrapped up in the illness with him. He had woven it around me, around the babies in my belly, around our home and trapped me in a very dark existence and I blindly carried on. There is so much to the journey I shared with Dave and this force which took over our lives. Details which leave many people open-mouthed in disbelief and astonishment that I could have stayed, believed in him and supported him. There are times that I have felt judged and embarrassed that I didn't recognize the sick man before me. I knew he had changed and that things weren't good. Believe me. But more than anything else I believed that it would work out. That things would calm down and stabilize and that we would be okay. Even when I knew that I no longer loved him, I pushed that aside and told myself that the love would grow again once things settled down. We would work on it because we had our babies and our family was what mattered most. The things I did for love weren't enough for what schizophrenia required from me. It took my husband, my hopes, my home, my life as I knew it. Love couldn't save any of it. And now I stand in the echoes of what happened, adjusting and healing and wondering if I should open this vault and venture in. I do this to help understand myself better and so that maybe someone will read it and feel like they are not alone, as the spouse or loved one of someone with mental illness. Sometimes we get forgotten because we aren't the ones who are actually sick, but we have to continue living with the consequences of an incurable disease. It is real to us too, a part of our daily lives and something we have to learn to live with. Lacking any kind of expertise, all I have is an experience to share, and I'm learning, so here are the murmurings of that knowledge in hopes that at least one person will heal as a result, and maybe even help a reader or two.